


Bloody Mary

by andrea_deer



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Bloody Mary - Freeform, Ghosts, Hunter!Flint, Hunter!Silver, M/M, Past Flint/Thomas - Freeform, Pre-Slash, SilverFlint bigbang, Supernatural AU - Freeform, background Flint/Miranda, canon character death, retelling of the episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 11:57:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15118910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrea_deer/pseuds/andrea_deer
Summary: „You got a curse potentially stuck on you and you want to just jump the wagon and become a hunter?”„Oh, god, absolutely not,” Silver protested vehemently before quickly assuring: „Don't get me wrong! You wear it very well! It simply doesn't seem like a thing for me. Creepy job, crappy conditions and even worse pay. Thanks but no thanks. I do however need a way out of here, and I'm painfully out of options and funds. I figured I can help you out for a while. Get a ride to a different state, earn some cash on the way...”When Miranda learns that Peter Ashe died in very unusual circumstances, she asks James to make sure her goddaughter is safe.





	Bloody Mary

**Author's Note:**

> Created for [SilverFlint BigBang 2018](http://silverflintdaily.tumblr.com/tagged/sfbb2018).
> 
> I had the pleasure of working with a great artist [nopupil](http://nopupil.tumblr.com/)! Make sure to check out her art [HERE](http://witchdraw.tumblr.com/post/175419493150/this-is-a-companion-piece-to-an-excellent-fic)! (It's super cool!)

**THEN**

_Four months earlier:_

„I work alone,” James has said with grim determination.

It wasn't strictly speaking true and sounded like a oneliner from some bad action movie about men being idiots and enjoying exploding stuff, but to be fair, James just fought with a shapeshifter _and_ a witch. He was bruised, had at least few cracked ribs and two of the fingers on his left hand were broken and bandaged up and all that on top of not sleeping for over thirty-six hours. The last thing he remembered was crawling into the Impala's backseat to get a moment of peace and maybe a short nap before hitting the road.

The police weren't very happy with him, so he drove away from the motel and parked under some multiplex, figuring out he could afford a few hours of cramped up sleep before he would have to leave town entirely and find a place to hole up for longer.

He was sure he must've passed out more than fall asleep because there was no other explanation for the fact that by the time he woke up the car was moving and John Silver was behind the wheel. The little shit obviously too stubborn to be easily shaken off.

James slowly pressed a gun against Silver's ribcage if not for other reason than to make his statements carry more weight. „And I don't appreciate the company.”

„That's all very dark and dramatic of you, I admit,” Silver said, his tone still airy with ease, but his posture tensed. „However, I did end up kind of stuck in a city where I'm technically speaking still suspected for murder, I lost my job and no one is willing to talk to me. Not to mention, I have absolutely zero guarantees that the curse is actually lifted. It was some tricky, evil, protective bullshit. I heard what your friend said over the phone, it might last and just stay dormant until the whole six months she planned are done! I really don't think your job is done here, Mr. Hunter.”

James rolled his eyes. This was Dufresne mess all over again.

„You got a curse potentially stuck on you and you want to just jump the wagon and become a hunter?”

„Oh, god, absolutely not,” Silver protested vehemently before quickly assuring: „Don't get me wrong! You wear it very well! It simply doesn't seem like a thing for me. Creepy job, crappy conditions and even worse pay. Thanks but no thanks. I do however need a way out of here, and I'm painfully out of options and funds. I figured I can help you out for a while. Get a ride to a different state, earn some cash on the way...”

James rose his eyebrows, reholstering his gun, deciding the kid wasn't worth wasting a bullet on, especially a silver one.

„Exactly how much do you think I make in this job?”

„Knowing you? Probably close to nothing. Which, actually does raise a question of how are you funding your never-ending road tripping...” James threw him a glare, too tired to argue. „I, on the other hand, am waiting for payment for the slimy bag of old skin the shapeshifter has shed.”

James' brain halted suddenly.

„What?”

John shrugged.

„I did some research. It's apparently pretty rare and valuable. I found a decent buyer few states over... Of course, then the whole mess with the surprise attack and your trap happened, so I lost most of it, but still. Not the worst deal I've ever made.”

„You sold its skin?”

„Please stop making it creepier than it's necessary.”

James stayed silent for a long moment. He hated the whole idea of hunting for money on principle, but as far the options within it went... Well, it's not like the shapeshifter was even using his shed skin, even if he was left alive. It wasn't the worst thing to make money off. Completely, utterly gross, but not the worst anyway. 

He frowned suddenly, his thoughts stumbling upon another problem.

„How the hell did you ship it?”

John met his gaze in the mirror.

„Carefully.”

James snorted, ignoring the victorious smile on his new partner's face. 

 

**NOW**

 

The girls were shrieking downstairs and Abigail looked at Lizzie with an indulgent smile. _Kids, huh?_ It seemed surreal still, being the one in charge and not one of the kids camping in the backyard, faking the great outdoor adventure in her father's old tent. Being an adult felt even less real back at home, it seemed.

She was wondering if Lizzie ever still had those "omg, I'm an adult" moments as well, but it seemed off to ask. Just in case she had everything under the wraps as much as she was pretending to. 

Abigail sipped on her wine thoughtfully still not fully able to shake off the feeling that she's just playing at being the hostess. Just like when she was younger and tried walking in her mum's heels, pretending to be her, now she's again coping what she vaguely remembers her mum doing and any minute now someone will burst in and call her scam off. 

Until then she decided to fake it in hopes it will feel more natural eventually. Or Lizzie will come clean about scamming her way through it as well.

Lizzie was an old friend, but they barely saw each other outside of summer anymore after they headed off to different universities. It seemed that without school and the same group of acquaintances the number of the subjects between them lowered but Abigail didn't regret much inviting Lizzie or allowing her sister and her friends to make a small camping in her yard. They did have the biggest lawn in the neighborhood, it seemed a shame to waste and she knew her father wouldn't disagree with an opportunity to seem like a good and friendly local man. Not so close to the town's mayor elections. She wondered briefly if it was a horrible thing to manipulate him like this or if it was just the way Ashes worked. 

"Your dad is really cool with this, right? The girls are getting kinda loud."

"He locked himself up in his study, pretending to be super busy just to avoid the commotion. He'll be fine. I figured we can tell them to quiet it down in a while, but it's not that late."

"Yeah, you'd think they never stayed past their bedtimes before with how excited they are."

Abigail chuckled. "Well, it's always more exciting in a group, especially if you're camping outside. Also, I think I heard them playing truth or dare when I went to the kitchen before."

"Well, that has to be responsible for at least half of those shrieks! Although, aren't they too young for that? What are they even daring each other to do?"

Abigail shrugged.

"I'm completely certain something less embarrassing than you'd do even without a dare."

Lizzie seemed to consider this for a moment before grinning. "Yeah, that's fair."

They heard the sound of pounding on some door and the girls screeching even louder.

Lizzie cringed as they heard Abigail's dad ask the girls to be quieter and their chorus of apologies. Abigail winced and mouthed 'oops?' at Lizzie who almost burst into laughter just as Abigail's dad knocked on her door before opening it.

He looked at them, nodding and his gaze stopped on the glass of wine Abigail still held. She fought the impulse to hide it away or explain herself. 

"Sorry, dad, we heard they got louder. I thought I will go tell them to go to sleep in a bit."

He nodded sternly. "It is getting late, don't let them run around too long."

"Of course."

"Good night, girls."

"Good night, dad."

"Good night, Mr. Ashe."

Abigail made a face at Lizzie as her father backed out of the room again. _Busted!_ This time Lizzie broke into giggles and it seemed Abigail was definitely not the only one feeling even more like a kid now that her father stepped in.

The younger girls quieted after that interruption and Abigail and Lizzie let them enjoy their shenanigans for almost an hour longer, lost in a conversation about their plans for the rest of the summer and the next year at college. 

"I'll just make sure they're actually in the tent and ready to sleep," Lizzie said and Abigail nodded, taking their empty glasses to the kitchen.

She paused on her way, seeing the light still on in the main bathroom upstairs. She walked closer, noticing the half-opened door and dark spill on the floor.

"Dad?" she asked quietly not wanting to make too much noise in case her dad was already asleep and it was just- She saw a shape on the floor and run towards the bathroom, opening the door and looking down at her father's dead body, covered in blood.

She screamed loudly enough that the girls outside had heard her.

 

 

James woke up to the sound of his mobile shrill tune that in the quiet of the morning seemed loud enough to wake the dead. The car swirled slightly as the sound clearly made John jump behind the steering wheel.

"You're way too fucking jumpy," James told him as if he hadn't gone from being asleep to sitting fully conscious after the first tone.

John mumbled something about old people keeping their phone rings on loudly and with standard sounds and _really, who does that?!_ but James ignored him with an ease acquired during the four months they knew each other.

"Flint."

"Hello, James."

James could feel himself relaxing and breathing easier. It wasn't Hal calling with another job, not Billy calling to bitch about another job. Not even Eleanor ready to bitch about anything, really. It seemed there were more and more people who somehow got James' number and treated it as an invitation to bother him whenever they pleased. 

It was one of the reasons why he started giving out Silver's number when they were working a job. The kid felt important to be called and James got annoyed slightly less often. Win, win.

"Miranda," he said warmly instead of a greeting. Her name a calm presence on his lips, feeling like one constant in the mess that became of their lives. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry, I didn't want to worry you. Or wake you. I'm not sure where you are at the moment." 

The silent 'you haven't called in a while' hang unspoken at the tip of her sentence. James cringed slightly at the accusation and then in the actual pain when he tried to stretch his back, painfully complaining about sleeping in the backseat again.

"We're about to leave Georgia."

"We already have," Silver offered from the front seat and James glared at him. 

He liked to pretend his conversation was private and it seemed for a moment he actually forgot the constant nuisance driving his car.

"So, I hear young John is still with you?" Miranda's tone was gentle and careful, and precisely the reason why James has been avoiding talking to her lately.

"Pull over," he ordered Silver and glared at him until he complied. 

The road was almost completely empty and wide enough, not really giving Silver many excuses to refuse even if they both knew he was motivated by anything else than his insatiable curiosity and will to eavesdrop further. Silver rolled his eyes as he pulled over and pointedly slumped back on the driver's seat like a sulking child that he was. James got out, cursing slightly as he felt how cramped his legs were.

"You really shouldn't be that horrible to him," Miranda said carefully and he appreciated that at least she bothered to wait until he was out of the car. "I thought you were getting along well."

"He's a little shit."

He could hear Miranda's soft inhale as if she was about to say something and jumped in before she could: "Was there any specific reason for your call?"

"Besides being worried that you fell off my radar?"

"I figured Hal keeps you informed."

"He does," she admitted. "As does Billy. And most of your friends in general."

"Billy is not my friend," he corrected automatically.

"Hal will be happy he's special then."

He grunted absentmindedly. The air was still chilly, the sun not up for long yet and he could feel his shirt getting dumper from the mist as last drags of sleep keeping a hold on his body were slowly fading away.

"I called you, because of a certain upsetting news I saw in the newspaper. I- Did you know Peter is dead? Peter Ashe, Thomas' friend."

James remembered Peter, but he couldn't deny how by now endearing and expected was Miranda's quick information sharing. It was one of the souvenirs of their old days when she was hanging by his side on any and all parties they accompanied Thomas to. She smiled politely and then tip her head slightly to the side, her hair tickling James' chin as she whispered about yet another senator and what he means for Thomas' company and who is he secretly seeing. It was over a decade ago, but he could still clearly remember the feel of her hand on his forearm as he stood stiffly in a new tuxedo worth more than the whole rest of his wardrobe.

With a startling clarity, he realized he hadn't had a tuxedo on - or even a suit - for private reasons in years.

"Is this something I should know because he was our friend or is there more?" She sighed and he knew he clearly was onto something. "Miranda, you wouldn't call just to tell me about his death."

"Maybe it was just an excuse to finally talk to you again? I haven't seen you in months."

He was quiet for a moment, knowing she wasn't happy with the fact that he pushed back his visit for another month. He knew he was avoiding this, but he also knew he couldn't just take Silver with him. He still needed to drive Silver to Hal first, just as promised, and that he has no good argument why it was taking him so long. 

He looked back towards the car, he wandered off some distance, pacing as he talked. There were still wet droplets on Impala's roof and rear and he had a vague memory of hearing the rain over the familiar sound of the engine as he was drifting off to sleep. 

John stood by the car. His curls a mess around his head, uncombed and untamed, flattened at the back from the where they pressed against the car seat for several hours. He was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and loose jeans, which was a sure sign his bruises from their encounter with a striga still bothered him and he didn't want the clothing to bind him too tightly. James glared against the rising sun, the light was not too bright yet and everything felt slightly unreal as it always did at dawn. He couldn't see John fully but he had a bad feeling the shithead was driving barefoot again.

"You know I will be there."

"I know. I'm sorry. I did call because of Peter. His death... Well, it wasn't obviously something that needs investigating, but it is unusual and I guess I just have a bad feeling about this and... Well, at some point he was my friend, I was... am, in a way, I suppose, a godmother to his daughter. I think we owe it to her to make sure she's safe."

James nodded, knowing she couldn't see him and somewhat curious if she can hear his nods and grimaces as well as he can hear her smiles and gestures.

"We will check it out. Will you send me the article?"

"I sent you an email with it already. And forwarded it to John to make sure you actually read it."

He forced himself to keep ignoring that line of their conversation. He kept pushing away the need to address it for at least three months, he felt like he could stretch that timeline a bit more still.

"I will make sure to check it out. He lived in South Carolina, didn't he?"

"Yes, I included the address with all the details. Thank you, James."

"There's no need to thank me yet," he teased lightly.

"Thank you for agreeing to look into this, then," she said with another small smile clear in her voice. "It just rattled me so, his death, weird as it was, and Abigail's picture in the paper. I remember her running around the backyard, playing with the sprayers and I think part of me expected to see the same child, but instead a young woman was looking at me from a picture. I suppose at least she has the excuse of growing up for her sudden change, God knows I'd barely recognize myself after those years."

"I recognize you," he assured her softly, realizing she hadn't talked to him at such length in a long while. 

"And I you," she said without hesitation. "At least we have that to our advantage."

"Always," James said looking up - still lost in the conversation, soft smile tugging at his lips - and frowned suddenly. "You better not be peeing at my car! Get away like a normal human being!"

"I'm not peeing on it! But I'm not getting attacked by snakes!" John shouted back, still leaning against the side of the car from where he peed out on the field. Only the distance James paced away saving his modesty at all.

"It seems you have your challenges stack ahead of you," Miranda mocked and James almost startled, for a second forgetting they were still on the line.

"Yeah," he growled. "He's challenged alright."

"James," she said warningly but not even trying to hide her amusement.

"He is peeing on the car, Miranda."

She chuckled, playing the devil's advocate as always: "Next to it."

"Barely."

"Goodbye, James. Give me a call you when you find anything."

"I will. Love you."

"I love you too. Stay safe."

James hung up the phone and just helplessly glared at Silver for a long moment. He realized the man was leaning so heavily on the car because somewhere between leaving the driver's seat and hoping to the passenger's side to pee he took off his prosthesis. 

"You're a pig," James growled when he walked close enough, going for the driver's seat this time.

John grinned at him over the roof zipping up his pants already. "But nothing bit me!"

James rolled his eyes and got behind the wheel. 

"Check your email, we have a job to do."

 

 

 

"It would be best to check the body first before we talk with the family," James said after they got into town, parking nearby the hospital in which morgue Peter's body was kept.

"Sounds good. You're gonna wait in the car?"

James looked up at Silver with a glare.

"Why the fuck would I wait in the car?"

Silver raised his eyebrows looking at James dubiously as if both of them should know the answer is obvious and James was not winning any points for pretending it was not.

"Because, and I don't want you to take it too personally, you're not that great with the cover stories."

James rolled his eyes. He managed well enough without Silver for almost a decade, he wanted to point out, but by now they both knew there was a fine line between managing and doing something well.

"I have an FBI badge and a suite,” he argued instead. „Peter was political enough to warrant somebody looking into his case if it was that odd."

"Well, eyes bleeding out of your skull sounds odd enough, I suppose,” agreed Silver in that annoying tone of his that James absolutely hated, because it only came out when Silver was right and stubborn and knew he should win the argument. Sometimes that tone was enough for James to do something absolutely contrary out of sheer spite. 

It never really ended well, so with a grunt, he just listened as Silver continued: „That doesn't change the fact that you may want to keep away from cover stories to seem more reliable to your friend's daughter if we need it. I can go and ask around."

"Unless you plan on hitting the barber on your way in, no one will believe that hair of yours make an FBI agent. And that's even if they do not count your legs."

John flipped him off. 

"Not only FBI agents can be nosy," he said rummaging through the glove compartment. James wondered briefly when the heck that space became so cluttered. 

He vaguely remembered stashing his currently-going-by ID there and maybe some ammo, but now it had notebooks, and the gun Silver was using most often, some chocolate and empty wrappers, few pencils... Silver was claiming the territory one junk covered space at a time.

Siver put o the fake thick-framed glasses and grabbed a notebook, grinning at James. "I'm a med student."

James rolled his eyes didn't comment as John made his way out of the car and towards the morgue. He really didn't look like a hunter, that was certain. He was wearing a sweater and skinny jeans. His boots were thick and comfortable out of necessity, but his wild curls were as always defying every hint of rigidness in the entire look. He really looked more like a student or some artist or a blogger, or whatever the hell kids did these days when they cared more about looking good than anything else. 

It was a weird mix that oddly enough made the police and authority figures vaguely suspicious of him whenever he appeared, but somehow also made pretty much everyone else more likely to let him in on their secrets. The odd mix of seeming completely unthreatening – utter bullshit – and charmingly mischievous – far closer to the truth. James was learning fast that Silver could be trusted with getting the information out of pretty much anyone. Ten times quicker if said someone was not from any armed forces. 

James got himself out of the car with a grunt, looking around for someplace where he could get coffee for the both of them. Before Silver attached himself to his side like a panicked, potentially cursed manchild that he was, James almost preferred getting information from the police. Of course, it got tricky when they were trying to check out his identity and every backstory fell fast, but it usually took them few hours to figure out he wasn't one of them and he got everything in neat reports and archived information. Compared to that interviewing people - or worse, just asking around without even the authority of being a cop to back him up - it was like pulling teeth. Easily James' least favorite part of the job he happily handed to Silver as soon as he accepted the man was capable enough. 

He seemed to have... natural talent for this. And while his various personas and masks he used were all as fake and obvious as one dollar Halloween costumes and Silver easily enough dropped them as fast as he could pull them on, the base of it all was real or at least ingrained deep enough in Silver. Because whether he needed to widdle some information or turn someone's attention or was he simply filling the tank, Silver was... _chatty_.

James wasn't even aware one could talk to so many people in a day. Now it felt like a miracle or at least a notable accomplishment that he managed to get coffee within ten minutes and with absolutely no useless chitchat. He drunk it slowly, rereading Abigail's statement when Silver returned, looking smug and mildly queasy. His usual look right after seeing a dead body up close. During years of working as a cop and later as hunter James met people entirely grossed out by death, terrified and nauseated, but also those for whom it barely registered anymore, those who remained almost completely unfazed. 

John balanced firmly almost exactly in the middle of the scale with his _"Yes I can deal with the dead, I'd just rather not"_ attitude. When necessary he was willing to do anything and was not squeamish at all, but when the tension lowered he was perfectly able and willing to complain of ours about the stench and the mess and the general morbidity of it all.

"I have seen your friend, though I'm sure he wasn't looking his best."

"Any chance it was just a medical weirdness?"

"I guess, there's always a chance, but I wouldn't hold my breath out. Apparently, his eyes literally exploded. They're not even one hundred percent sure of the cause of death, but all his blood vessels burst, his brain had a giant bleed out the doc ever saw."

"Sounds weird enough."

"Yeah, I think, if you wanna be sure, we should really talk to the daughter."

"She's the one who found the body," James noted, glancing back at the report they hacked from the police. "Apparently she saw him about an hour earlier and then found him lying in a puddle of his own blood in the bathroom."

"Yep. Nothing kills a sleepover like a dead body," Silver paused, though James doubted it was caused by his unamused glance. "You think we're having some classic horror movie moment here?"

"Meaning?" frowned James.

"Well, a sleepover, full of weird games that seem innocent enough, but it's all fun and games until you summon a ghost of a serial killer." Silver shrugged.

James shook his head.

"Television rotted your brain," he informed him calmly before shrugging. In general, it was not the worst theory for the beginning. "Maybe they did something, unaware of consequences. Best option would be to talk to them, I guess."

"It's that joy you express when you know you will have to talk to people that makes you so popular in all social circles."

James started drinking from the second cup of coffee that theoretically was waiting for Silver but which he now definitely lost the privilege of.

 

 

 

When they parked under Abigail's house it felt like being suddenly slammed with the memories of his life before hunting. James looked at the building realizing he was still not prepared for it. He kept focusing on the job and the vague memory of a young girl who now needed his help. He seemed to have forgotten that while he might remember a child running freely in Hamilton's backyard, she did spend most of her life in a house more resembling that of Alfred Hamilton, in spirit if not always in style.

Big, clean building with meticulously mowed lawn, the American flag billowing on the wind. Even a decade ago James felt painfully out of place, in his relatively cheap suits and the military haircut, as if everyone in the attendance was able to spot out the poor kid who tried to sneak in without an invitation. Now, in thick, army boots and jeans, t-shirt and an old and worn leather jacket which didn't show any blood stains more due to its dark coloring than actual lack of said stains... He had a feeling it wouldn't be easy to sneak in even if he still had Thomas at his side.

John pressed the bell without a second thought.

"Hello?" young woman opened the door after a short moment. 

She looked tired and pale, her black smart dress making her look even smaller and more serious, but her voice tagged insistently at a memory of a small girl running in Thomas' garden, summer dress wet from the sprinkles, giggling loudly.

James suddenly understood Miranda's reaction far better.

"Hello," SIlver started, talking over stumped James with ease. "We're-"

"My name is James McGraw," James interrupted before John could spread their usual set of lies. "I was a friend of your father a long time ago. Can we come in?"

Silver threw him a look and James' wasn't sure if it was because of the name or the honesty, but he didn't give a rat's ass at the moment and ignored it with ease. He somewhat regretted even having Silver with him for this case, but a small part of him was willing to admit it would be even more difficult without him. Memories threatening to overwhelm him if he didn't forcefully keep them in check.

Abigail looked dubious enough but too polite to refuse them outright. She led them towards the living room, the space almost completely covered with various packed dishes and some somber colored fruit baskets. She caught his look and shrugged.

"I run out of space in the kitchen," she explained dryly and James looked down to cover his smirk, uncertain of how much like her father the girl grew up to be.

"Your father is remembered by a lot of people," Silver said gently.

Abigail shrugged again. "He was a politician," she said shortly as if that explained everything. "You said you knew him?"

"A long time ago," James admitted carefully, sitting down as Abigail gestured towards the couch, John sliding into a seat next to him. "You were no older than ten when I met you. I was a friend of the Hamiltons, who were close with your father."

Abigail was nodding now, small smile curling her lips upon hearing the name. 

"I remember them," she said with a small sound of wonder as if she was surprised by the half-faded memories."I didn't expect anyone from that time to visit. I don't think father kept in touch with you?"

"No, not really,” admitted James easily enough. „Miss Hamilton saw his obituary in the newspaper. She was quite concerned and asked me to stop by and see if you were doing alright. We were working close enough."

"Ah, that's very nice of her. Lots of people come by and check if I will be alright, though I think curiosity is stronger than empathy with them."

James nodded. "With unusual passing as your father's, it's to be expected."

"I suppose, we were all quite shook up. Lizzie's sister is having the worst time, possibly. She convinced herself she's responsible for it all," Abigail chuckled softly.

"How so?" Silver asked with fake carelessness.

"Well,” Abigail bit her lip for a second, pausing as if uncertain if that's the topic that should be brought up in the polite conversation. It either passed her critique or she decided she didn't care because quickly she continued: „Lizzie and I had a movie night, but we were really keeping an eye on her sister, Jenny, and her two friends. They really wanted to have a mini camping thing going on, but neither one of them had a backyard that would work, so I invited them over. They were having a blast, I think. Playing truth or dare and running around... Jenny was dared to say 'Bloody Mary' three times in front of the mirror not long before... And now she is terrified that that's what got my dad."

Silver just met Flint's gaze and mouthed _"told you so"_. James rolled his eyes at him, keeping his focus on the girl before them.

„They were so scared,” she said slowly. „I think I put them off camping forever."

James tried to smile at her reassuringly, realizing it's been a while since he had to be the one to comfort victims and their close ones. It seemed it was that part of the job that seemed to generally fall to Silver.

"And you?” he asked gently. „Are you coping with all of it?"

She nodded with determination. "It's been rough and dad's coworkers who are trying to make decisions for me are quite a chore, but I'll be fine. I'm no longer ten," she added with a small smile he had to answer in kind.

"That much is obvious," James he agreed, getting a card out of his pocket. "But in case something weird or bad happens and you want to talk to someone from outside of your father's political circle, you can give me a call. We'll probably be in town for a few more days, at least."

She nodded easily and he had a feeling it was not an unusual offer and he could probably only hope she will keep his card at the top of the growing stack.

 

 

 

"So, Bloody Mary," Silver said and of all topics he could go for, James was quite glad he for once seemed to be focused on work.

"Every legend has a moment of truth."

"Yeah, but kids summon Bloody Mary all over the country.” He frowned. „I'm pretty sure I have done it. Back in the orphanage, on some stupid dare. Not to mention, isn't it supposed to attack the one who summons it?"

James shrugged, mentally adding to the evergrowing file on Silver a note of the orphanage being mentioned again. He had a feeling if he actually did have a file on what he knows about the man and his past it would less resemble a police document and more a bunch of post-it notes with seemingly random bits of information tossed in one pile.

"There's clearly something off, but the coincidence is too huge to ignore. They had to summon something."

"Yeah, I suppose. Can't expect another creature to wait for an opportunity that well crafted."

James grunted in reply, sliding into the driver's seat.

 

 

 

When the phone vibrated with yet another call Abigail wanted nothing more than to just ignore it. To pretend for awhile she didn't have to deal with any of it anymore, but with the quiet determination, she realized that would just be feeding the fire of the accusations from her father's coworkers and solicitors. 

_She is too young! We can't expect her to be responsible! Of course, everything is now rightfully hers, but perhaps it would be best if she had someone older and wiser to help her along the way...._

She had absolutely no doubt she needed the help and she desperately craved someone who would be willing to give it without the ulterior motives or patronizing behavior, but she knew well enough, none of the people bothering her about it fit even one of those criteria.

She breathed in relief when she saw Lizzie's name on the display, apparently, the vultures had sat for the night at last.

"Hey, Abbie."

"Hey, I'm glad you're calling. How is Jenny holding up?"

Lizzie chuckled mirthlessly.

"I really am impressed how in the whole mess you're still asking about her."

"Well, I understand how shook up she had to be. This was... a terrifying incident, and on top of their game, it had to leave an impression."

"Oh, it sure did. She'll be fine, but she keeps having nightmares and refuses to sleep unless all the mirrors are covered or preferably out of the room. At least that finally got me her tall mirror which really was wasted on her."

Abigail smiled, enjoying the attempts to lighten the mood.

"I'm glad some good is coming out of it."

"Oh my god, I didn't mean-"

Abigail chuckled at Lizzie's sudden shift of tone.

"I know, I know! Calm down, Lizzie. I was just joking,” she assured quickly. „I think the tension is getting to me as well."

"Do you also feel bloody Mary will come and get you?" mocked Lizzie in a creepy voice.

"I really hope not, there are far too many mirrors in this house," she said, attempting to joke, but apparently failing miserably judging by her friend's mocking laughter.

"Oh my god, Abs, you totally think Bloody Mary is out there!"

"No, I- It's just been very weird and terrifying. I think I don't even know what I'm fearing, I just keep seeing my dad." She gulped. "It was awful."

"I bet. But, for what it's good, it was not an evil spirit and at least with proving that I can help!"

"What? What do you mean?" Abigail asked, suddenly anxious, hearing some noises as if Lizzie was moving around.

"I'm going towards that tall mirror my sister was so scared of."

Abigail froze.

"No, please don't. Lizzie, this is stupid, I know it is, but please, don't do that."

"No, come on, Abi. It's like bungee jumping, you need to face your fears."

"I really would rather not," Abigail said grumpily and Lizzie laughed, making Abigail suddenly remember that perhaps they were actually losing contact already in high school and there were better reasons for it than just the distance.

"Bloody Mary."

"Lizzie, stop!"

"Bloody Mary," Lizzie repeated, laughter clear in her voice. "Bloody Mary."

There was silence on the other end and Abigail could hear her heart pounding loudly as she waited for any sound, any sound at all. Thousands of thoughts running through her head. What if she would even do if something happened? Called Lizzie's mum to check? Call the ambulance? Call-

"Boo!"

Abigail jumped.

"Lizzie!" she scolded the laughing girl.

"Oh my god, you so jumped, I know it! I was going to scream, but I worried that would completely freak you out."

"You are the absolute worst," Abigail informed her coldly, her heart still running wild, feeling as if it was about to jump out her chest.

"Maybe so, but I'm also alive and perfectly fine, thank you very much. No ghost attack at all! I'm just about-- What the fuck?"

"What is it?"

"I just..." The reception seemed to get worse, there was more white noise on the line. "I th-- -- saw something."

"Lizzie, please, I understand your reasoning but please no more jokes," Abigail hated how her voice sounded tearful already. Emotions overpowering her body as always, even when her mind stayed clear, her body shook and her eyes watered, choked back sobs scrapping her throat. "Lizzie? Lizzie!"

She heard a muffled scream through the white noise before the connection died altogether. She breathed frantically, trying to recall Lizzie but only hearing that the number she dialed was currently unavailable. She breathed slowly, sat down by her desk, put her head down between her knees as if she was about to prevent fainting and slowly calmed her breath and got her tears under control enough to sound calm. 

She took last long breath and reached for her phone.

She decided to call Lizzie's mum first.

 

 

 

Sometimes when James was very lucky he dreamed about Miranda. 

A few years ago, back when he was saddled with Billy, James dreamed of Miranda sitting on the porch of the house they bought for her. The house has more protective spells than almost any other place in the US, if not the world. James worked on it persistently when they bought it. Avoiding the guilt and anger that threatened to drown him, avoiding Miranda and her grief, and pouring all his energy into keeping her safe. Making sure he wouldn't fail her like he failed Thomas. 

They made sure the ground is safe when they bought it. No curses or ghost activity for miles, no dark energy seeped into the dirt. Then James made sure the boundaries around the property were safe as well. Both from the humans and the paranormal. 

The house itself was covered in all protective symbols they could find and use, they put them on every goddamned brick James used, mixing cement with holy water, painting sigils before covering them with actual wall colors. There were herbs in the walls and fresh one still drying in the kitchen, salt laid fresh every day across all entries, weapons hidden in various handy places in case of emergency. 

There was no place where Miranda would be safer and dreaming of her on the porch, drinking tea slowly and watching the dogs play was as close to heaven as James imagined he was ever going to get. 

He wanted to ditch Billy then and there and just go and visit her, be enveloped by this calmness and safety for just a few days maybe... But there was a vampire nest in the city and James could not shake the thought that his presence would just ruin the quiet idyll of Miranda's house.

He waited with his visit for the appointed meeting they've scheduled and by then Billy already left which at least cleared one of the problems.

 

 

 

He snapped out of the dream suddenly and gulped the air as his racing heart slowly calmed down. He was drenched in sweat and it took him a moment to realize where he was, the nightmare still clinging to his consciousness. He blinked against the haziness in his eyes, trying to clear the vision of the fire taking over the ceiling, the blank look in Thomas' eyes... The ceiling he was looking at now was much dirtier and either completely changed colored from the cigarette smoke or was actually painted in the absolutely gross mix of yellow and beige, possibly to avoid the visible nicotine stains. 

It really made him crave a cigarette. 

Small sounds of typic resumed and he only now realized the silence that stretched for a long moment after his sudden awakening. He looked towards the small table where Silver sat before the laptop, surrounded by books and documents. He seemed focused on his task well enough, though there was little doubt whether he was paying attention to James before.

„Did you find anything?” James grunted out, not bothering to get up yet.

He should have guessed talking so much about Peter and the past would bring the nightmares but it was not like they ever really left for good.

„Not really. No one named Mary died in front of a mirror in this town. There are two cases in total of violent deaths that did or could very well include a mirror, one girl named Tina killed herself and one guy named Marvin who was murdered by his son. I even checked deaths in general but alas – no Marys.”

„Maybe it is actually some sort of coincidence....” James trailed off not really willing to believe it himself, but not really being fond of the alternative either.

„Or the name is less significant than we assumed,” supplied John and James nodded grimly.

„Did you-”

He was interrupted by the shrill ringtone of his phone and John grumbled again about old people's phones while James reached for it to cut the horrible standard tune before it could drill through his brain any further.

„Flint,” he answered gruffly, not recognizing the number.

„Uh- Mr. McGraw?”

„Abigail,” he replied his tone shifting drastically hearing the young girl and her nervous voice. „I'm sorry, yes, it's me. Did something happen? You sound shaken.”

„My friend, Lizzie, she just... She died last night and... And I know it's stupid but I have no one else to call and I know she said the Bloody Mary in front of the mirror and she died just like my father did and--” She paused before adding almost defensively: „You said I could call.”

„I did,” he confirmed steadily, „and I'm glad you have. Are you at home? We can be there in about twenty minutes.”

„Could I- Could I maybe come to you? I really want to get out of here.”

James hesitated, looking around. The research was strewn all over the table and it seemed to have splattered over the wall already. John always gained some unhealthy joy from low scale vandalizing their motel rooms if only by sticking morbid pictures and articles to the wallpaper. Perhaps it was a self-defense mechanism against the monstrosity of the wallpapers themselves.

Their clothes were strewn around and empty take out plates were stinking up the place. Three different guns and a hunting knife were dropped over John's bed where he clearly just tossed them out of the bag to be cleared later.

„Of course,” he said uneasily. „We're in a motel Blue Moon, room 242.”

„Thank you,” she said sounding relieved enough for him to forget regretting his decision.

Silver looked around the room as James put the phone down.

„It might be easier to just book a new, clean room,” he suggested.

„Judging by the state of this one when we arrived they don't have those on the offer. Put the pictures away,” he ordered, ignoring John's pout as he paced around the room systematically hiding all the weapons. 

 

 

 

The motel looked like it had its best days a few years before Abigail was born. She couldn't shake the feeling she wasn't supposed to be there at all. She could clearly see in her mind the way her father would frown if he ever heard about this. It seemed more like a place for some seedy deeds to take place in, drag deals, cheap prostitution... or a murder. She really should quit binge watching crime shows during her exams it was not helping, not helping at all. 

She tried to fake the confidence she didn't feel and walked towards the room Mr. McGraw was staying in, only walking faster as she heard some noise on the parking lot from the other guests. She knocked and just a moment later Mr. McGraw opener the door for her and let her in.

The place didn't look much better on the inside, but the window was opened and the beds were made and it seemed like they made effort to make it look less like a dump before her visit. She politely averted her gaze to stop staring, even as her nervous brain jumped on the thought _'Two beds after all, huh.'_ and wouldn't leave it until she gave it a solid mental kick. This was definitely not anywhere even near the topic she should be focusing on.

"How are you holding up?" Mr. Mcgraw asked awkwardly and she just looked at him which made him smile and shrug it off. 

"I have no idea what's going on. Lizzie mocked me because I sounded so spooked about this whole thing... I knew it was stupid, and I didn't really mean it, it was just a terrifying night and staying in that house alone was playing tricks on me. But she mocked me and wanted me to face my fears."

"Sounds like a supportive kind of friend," Mr. Silver murmured and Abigail choked down a sob. Lizzie was a horrible friend. Inpatient and intrusive, always more focused on herself and her problems, Abigail always being too slow and too careful for her tastes, but she was also dead and Abigail in a way heard her die and it was the worst.

"Did you hear anything odd while you two were on the phone?" Mr. Silver asked and she shook her head.

"The reception was getting bad. It was mostly just white noise and I heard just scraps of what Lizzie was saying. That weird distorted way you hear something when the connection is really bad."

They were both listening to her carefully, Mr. Silver nodding understandingly.

"I called her mum, and she went to check and found her body. I- They didn't want to tell me much, but I know she died like my dad did. Everyone is already gossiping about how her eyes bled out. And I told everyone I talked to her on the phone and just heard her collapse, that's why I called her mum."

"You didn't tell anyone about the Bloody Mary," Mr. Silver said, not even bothering to make it a question, but she shook her head anyway.

"They're all worried about me and whether I can handle being on my own, waiting for me to mess up. I can't say things like that, even if they were true, they would think I snapped." She looked up at them, trying to make them understand. "I- you're really the only ones truly outside of it. I hoped I could tell you the truth."

"You can," Mr. McGraw assured her. "And I'm glad you did. We- Mister Silver and I work on-- similar type of things. Unusual deaths or accidents... When Mrs. Hamilton read about your dad's unusual passing, she called me because she wanted me to make sure you'll be safe."

Abigail frowned, looking from Mr. McGraw to Mr. Silver trying to judge if they were not making fun of her or tricking her in some way.

"You actually think Bloody Mary did this?"

"Isn't that what you came to tell us?" Mr. McGraw asked, but it wasn't nearly as simple as that.

"Well, yes but...” she stumbled, trying to find a way to explain herself. „I don't know- I just-"

"I think," Mr. Silver said slowly, smoothly cutting into her babbling, "you know something weird is going on in here. Two people dying in such unusual way so close after summoning the ghost... It's too much of a coincidence and you're smart enough to know this, but the alternative is so shocking and terrifying that you still hoped we will be able to tell you there's another explanation. That everything is alright and everyone's safe. We can't do that, Abigail, but I can assure you that Mr. McGraw and I know what we're doing. And while I can't honestly tell you there's nothing evil hiding in the dark, I can promise that we will find a way to deal with it and end this."

She nodded, watching him carefully. She was sure if they've met a few weeks ago she'd be running for the hills. She heard so many rants from her father about crazy people using beliefs of ghosts and paranormal to hurt others, to brainwash those looking for guidance and help. But now she only saw empty holes where her father's eyes used to be and the sheer frustration of everyone telling her that everything was alright, that it was normal, nothing weird had happened.

"We will do our best to keep you safe, Abigail, I promise," Mr. McGraw said softly.

"I- What can I do to help?" she asked wit resolution and Mr. Silver smiled at her brightly. 

"Well, Abigail, as great as we are at our job, it would be much easier if we could find out more. I wonder, is there any way you could get us into your friend's house?"

 

 

 

They waited by the side of the building, carefully trying to avoid anyone noticing them as Abigail went inside to talk with her friend's family. James hated admitting that this was incredibly useful, having her helping them, working from the inside. They would be able to check out her house fully later on as well, perhaps finally find something that would lead them to the way of solving this case. Stil, he absolutely hated the fact that Abigail was working with them. It was a weird mix of his cop instincts rebelling against the mere idea of a civilian, part of the victim's family no less, helping with the investigation and hunter's tendency for secrecy, all mashed carefully with an overprotective streak of someone who despite all evidence could not remember how that Abigail was an adult and capable of making her own decisions. 

It was bound to blow up in their faces, but since Silver talked to her there was no way she was backing out now.

Silver's magical talent with words and manipulation was once again turning out to be a double-edged sword. Whatever might be said about the man's research skills – passable for a novice – or fighting ability – bearable though he shot way too fucking good for someone not owning a gun – his ability with talking to people was unprecedented. It would be easy to just chalk it up to him being easy on the eyes, and god knows that didn't hurt, but James saw him charm the hell out of a priest, several painfully straight men and on one occasion a lesbian in a steady relationship. It didn't work on everybody though James still wasn't sure if some people were able to resist or because they would take longer to work on and Silver rarely had that kind of time. Personally, he liked to think he was resistant to this charm, but Miranda laughed at him over the phone when she heard it, pointing out that John has been traveling with him for months now, barely even adding to the family budget.

At this point, he could at least be sure Silver has been working with him for long enough to know when to shut up and back off because James was furious with him. Sadly it never lasted.

"Are you seriously still angry about the way I handled the situation?"

"It's never a good idea fo civilians to work on a job. And quite frankly-"

"Wait a moment," Silver interrupted and really, it seemed it was a day for a death wish. James ground his teeth. "Civilians? Who do you think we are?"

It was on tip of James' tongue, really, to point out that he might be out of the force and out of the army, but he never really became a civilian. The old annoyance that just because he is working in a line of duty that is not officially recognized or accepted doesn't change the fact that he still follows his main duty and tries to keep as many people safe as possible. He wanted to argue, because it was a fight he had with himself and with others often enough and because the angry bile was still sitting thick and burning in his stomach, but he realized John was not talking about him at all. John, for once, was actually talking about himself. And it slammed into James and left him breathless for a moment when he realized that he forgot. 

Despite the colorful, trendy clothes, peculiar sunglasses and untamable hair, he forgot Silver was not his partner on the force. That he never had any training besides some mismatched collection of survival skills he picked up in life and whatever James managed to drill into his skull in the past months. 

Abigail was a child of a friend. Billy never stopped being anything but 'that kid that wants to be a hunter'. Eleanor was a civilian who passed the information and knew enough. Hal was ex-army which made him close enough to be an ally in there. There were many ex-military and ex-policemen among the hunters and James thought of them all as a chaotic, undisciplined, unmanaged hoard of soldiers like him. And everyone else as a civilian.

And Silver... Silver was something else entirely.

The window above them opened with a swift sound and Abigail leaned out of it to wave them over. James pushed his thoughts forcefully to the back of his mind and gave Silver a boost without a second thought, carefully taking most of his weight on as he balanced on his prosthesis before he managed to get a good grip on the edge of the roof and pull himself up.

 

 

 

"Is it okay for us to be here?" Mr. McGraw asked, keeping his voice quiet.

Abigail nodded, watching the men move around the room, unpacking some equipment she never saw in her life. 

"Yes," she confirmed almost absentmindedly. "I told Lizzie's mum I'd like to spend some time with her things and away from the chaos of it all. She's very understanding, she knew me for most of my life. They went to church with Jenny, we have some time before they will be back."

Mr. McGraw nodded and started swiping the thing in his hand around the room slowly. It seemed like some sort of radar, reminded her of the one that was used to check for radiation, though she never actually saw one in real life.

"What are you doing with this?" she asked, part of her still terrified they were both crazy and she just talked herself into a one giant mess.

"It detects the energy that some paranormal phenomena leaves behind," he explained calmly and Abigail noticed Mr. Silver tossing her a worried look before glancing meaningfully at Mr. McGraw who continued carefully:

"I realize it all sounds a bit mad to you right now," the radar he held in his hand made a louder cracking sound as he moved towards the tall mirror Lizzie talked about on the phone. "But I assure you it actually does work. Lights?"

Abigail moved quickly to turn off the lights and looked at what Mr. McGraw was looking at - at the bottom of the mirror there seemed to be a smudge of some sort, looking almost fluorescent in the half-lit room.

"We have a black light by any chance?" Mr. Silver asked.

"In the trunk," Mr. McGraw said shortly. Their eyes locked before Mr. McGraw sighed, passing the radar to Mr. Silver and going back to the window, presumably to retrieve the mentioned black light.

Abigail looked at Mr. Silver who was smiling slightly as if appreciating the gesture or at least the fact he was not the one who would have to climb back up. She wondered if it would be too dangerous to just open the door for the return of Mr. Mcgraw, but she remembered it was an early Sunday afternoon, there was no way Lizzie's nosy neighbour, Mrs. Palmer, was not firmly locked in her garden vis a vis Lizzie's house, making sure her lawn was immaculate and she didn't miss any coming and goings in the neighborhood.

She really hated this town.

"Is it usual for ghosts to leave trails like that?" she asked, feeling equally curious and silly at the same time. 

"In a way. They're not corporal, so they rarely leave prints or marks like living do, but their presence doesn't go unnoticed. There's this cracking energy when they appear, often there's a change in the temperature of the room. It usually leaves something. And plenty of them actually want to leave some imprint, a message or a signature, more or less consciously."

She nodded slowly, absorbing the information as Mr. Silver half-heartedly checked the readings in the rest of the room, seemingly already convinced he won't find anything away from the mirror.

A small rustle could be heard outside of the window, making her jump slightly, before she focused back on Mr. Silver looking utterly calm about the whole situation like it was nothing that unusual. People bleeding their eyes out, ghosts killing through the mirrors... She was quite terrified to wonder what still passes as scary to those men.

"This is what you really do? Travel from town to town, haunting ghosts?"

Mr. Silver chuckled. "Among other things. I consider it more of a temporary appointment, but Mister McGraw is quite dedicated."

"Most people do it just temporary and stick with it for a lifetime," said Mr. McGraw suddenly, sliding through the window. "Mr. Silver likes to pretend he is not part of this until someone thanks him for the help and he realizes he's finally doing something meaningful with his sorry life."

It seemed she might have missed an argument or two that were required to follow this conversation, but Mr. Silver's glare lasted for only a fracture of a second before being replaced with a wide and fake grin.

"Are you saying my experience in customer service was not meaningful? Because I assure you, no one knows humanity like the customer service people."

Mr. McGraw rolled his eyes and threw the small black light lamp at him before turning to pull the blinds over the windows. 

They pulled the mirror down on the bed, Mr. Silver flashing the light over the back of it and in a moment, impatiently ripping the paper covering it to reveal more of the fluorescent dye directly on the back of the mirror.

There were imprints of two small hands, far too small for Lizzie. Perhaps, too small for Jenny as well.

Directly billow them it looked as if someone fingerpainted two words: Jack Delaney.

Abigail looked up at her new companions, Mr. McGraw meeting her gaze with a rueful smirk. "Well, unexpected tumor certainly didn't leave this."

 

 

 

James left Silver and Abigail to have a dinner and went to research the name they found on his own. Part of him rebelled against the idea of leaving Silver with Abigail, like an overprotective dad unwilling to leave the child with some unsavory character. 

It was like two worlds clashing. 

A world of carefully maintained lawns, American flags, and church every Sunday. Clean rooms and spotless bathrooms whose owners didn't even clean them once. Smiling families all over the neighborhood. Everyone knowing everyone else worth knowing. Innocent girl sheltered from the real world by her money and family, now eating dinner with a man who had more marks of survival on him than she probably ever even considered. A rat of a human being who could charm and lie, and get away with anything. 

Part of James never really left the world Abigail was used to. It was never his place but Thomas tied him with it forever, every memory of Thomas was submerged in this and now as neither James nor Miranda remotely resembled the people they used to be, it was still tagging on his thoughts, brought up to the surface with every fleeting memory of the man he loved. 

He left both of his current companions, his nerves regarding their time spent together soothed by the promise of some peace and quiet for himself. Since Silver joined him he hardly had a moment for himself anymore. It was less excruciating then he expected, but still far more annoying than he was willing to cope with without a single break.

The research itself, for once conducted without interruptions, lasted less than twenty minutes but he took his time returning to the restaurant. 

"What took you so long?" Silver asked when James rejoined them as they were eating cake by the outside table. 

James wasn't sure if it was smart to stay out in the open like that. Perhaps they were causing Abigail more harm than good with their presence so noticeable, but he had a feeling she was far better at playing this game than he ever wanted to be, so he left it in her capable hands.

"Jack Delaney was a child who died in a car accident four years ago. He was hit by a blue Honda Civic. The driver never stopped, didn't help the kid and was never caught," he watched Abigail carefully as she seemed stuck on some realization, he continued slowly: "The type of the car was all the witnesses got."

Abigail met his gaze, looking terrified.

"Lizzie drove that car. There was- I don't know what happened exactly but she had a car like that and she did have an accident in our senior year... She got a new car after that, but when I asked about it, she said it was just a gift from her parents for getting her acceptance letters. She never mentioned the accident ever again, I thought it was just because she hated showing a weakness or maybe her dad did something so she wouldn't get in trouble, but I didn't know anyone got hurt."

She stopped suddenly, visibly shaking herself from the memory and focusing on their current events. "But what does it have to do with her death?" she lowered her voice even further. "With the ghost?"

"I think perhaps the victims are not as random as we might have thought. And that might explain why the girls who first summoned it were not attacked."

"But that would mean that my father-"

James held his tongue as she looked straight at him. A ball of lead spreading over his stomach, weighing him down.

"We need to check our bathroom mirror," Abigail said with determination and hailed the waiter, seemingly in a hurry to get this over with and find out the truth. James rather liked her more and more.

It took them several hours before they could investigate properly. The mirror was harder to dismantle than they expected and Abigail insisted they waited until later in the afternoon when people would stop visiting her. It was slowly getting dark outside when they finally lowered the mirror onto the floor and John turned off the lights in the bathroom, passing the black light towards James who was kneeling by the mirror. Little light fell into the room from a small window, James could barely make out John's shape as he took the lamp from him, but the imprint of adult, long-fingered, thin palms was bright right above the shining name: _Kathreen Ashe._

 

 

 

"It seems to me, you have expected someone else's name," Silver said carefully from the entry to the barely lit guest bedroom.

James sat on the end of the bed, his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees and breathing deeply, just trying to stop himself from barreling forward and falling, falling, falling...

"How could I expect anyone's name?" he asked weakly, not even raising his head. Not bothering to question why he wasn't even startled by Silver's presence.

"That's the curious part, I admit,” Silver replied smoothly, carefully casual. „Especially since it's not exactly a nice thing to find out that your so-called friend apparently helped his wife to the other side."

James raised his head tiredly as if it was ten times its weight and looked at Silver sternly in silence. Silver met his gaze for a short moment before apparently coming to some sort of decision and walking in and closing the door behind him.

"Abigail reigned her shock in quite impressively and accepted a dinner invitation from some of the friends of the family. They didn't want her to sit at home and waste away,” he said. „Apparently having time for yourself after witnessing two tragic deaths is a bad sign in this neighborhood."

"They want to drag as much information out of her as possible. Make sure she's holding up and can deal with her insurance, but not holding up too well, because then the gossip mile will just call her cold and heartless bitch incapable of relating to the humans around her and possibly responsible in some way for all of this."

Silver slowly sat down on the side of the bed, close enough that James still could feel him warm and close behind his back, but not too close, so there'd be no accidental touching between them. It was a fascinating concept how many of Silver's movements were so carefully calculated. He seemed to only operate in two modes, complete spontaneity when he didn't even fully realize he was doing something before it was done, and grand tactician schemes that involved calculations of any given situation at least three steps ahead.

"That's awfully cynical of you,” Silver said lightly. „Probably true, but-"

James closed his eyes and took a long breath before opening his mouth, weirdly enough unsure yet what exactly what he was going to say.

"When Thomas died...," he licked his dry lips, falling silent. Silver's presence still firmly behind him, but surprisingly silent. He started again: "I think I expected to see Thomas' name on the mirror. Thomas was Miranda's husband, he was a friend of Peter's. Their families came from a similar background, both of them raised to take another place in the familial business of politics and corporations. Thomas didn't really fit in well with that. He was a great politician, but he actually cared about the people. He was... marvelous."

"You loved him."

James paused. 

The directness of the statement surprising him more than the fact that Silver figured it out on his own. 

Silver always saw more than he let on and he had plenty to work with and many creatures easily recognized and used Flint's weakest point. He was the one who caught James, sleepwalking into the deep forest, lured by what sounded like Thomas calling for help. He clearly paid attention when the shapeshifter wearing Flint's face talked about how Silver's blue eyes look so temptingly familiar...

If nothing else, Silver witnessed enough of James' nightmares. 

"Yes,” he admitted and it came easier than he ever expected. The words rushing closely behind as if he just opened a tame he built slowly over the years. „I loved both of them. And for a brief moment in time, we were allowed to be happy.”

He paused, the words pressing against his lips about their time together. All the small, unimportant, treasured memories he wanted to share with Silver that were still too sharp and hurtful and not ready to be let out so freely. He swallowed, burying them down again, for now, jumping straight to the end of story. 

„Then-Then Thomas started acting odd... He was seeing signs everywhere. Forgetting where he was and what he was doing. Missing time, coming home with bruises and not able to recall where he even spent the day. His family tried to keep it hidden, but they didn't know half of it. Thomas lived with Miranda and I and neither one of trusted his family. We tried to figure it out on our own. I- I wasn't sure what was going on. I was still a cop back then, I saw things, I knew about the paranormal-- But it was not enough and I couldn't be sure if it was that or something medical... All his tests kept coming clean.

As things progressed we became convinced it was nothing natural. It must have been possession of some sort. We tried to keep him safe. He got a tattoo that makes demon possession impossible and we thought we lucked out. It seemed we got another chance... 

But someone told Alfred Hamilton all about it. The man put his son in some hell of a private institute for mentally ill, accusing Miranda and I that we wanted to get Thomas' money. His lawyers drove us off. We moved and waited, I wanted to get Thomas out right away, but it wasn't so simple and I could not risk Miranda on a hunch that something horrible was about to happen. We wanted to regroup and get Thomas out, but... A few days later we were informed he died. Burned on a ceiling, they made up an excuse of some sort of electrical failure but when I broke in to see for myself the place stunk of sulfur and I had no doubt it was demon work."

Silver was silent for a long moment. James stared at the soft floral patterns on the wallpaper before him without seeing a thing. More aware of John's slow breathing by his side than anything else in the room.

„I am genuinely sorry for this,” Silver said, his tone strong and James couldn't look at him. After a moment of silence, he took a calming breath and said:

"I think it was Peter who told on Thomas' to his father. Thomas considered him a good friend. I think... he trusted Peter enough to tell him the truth. And with Thomas' out of the picture, Peter rose in ranks fast. Perhaps it was not enough for the Bloody Mary to consider it the cause of Thomas' death."

"Or perhaps he has done something far more direct to his wife."

James nodded slowly. "I'm afraid we will have to ask Abigail about this."

"Well, that is going to be a pleasant conversation."

James' mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile. He finally glanced at the man sitting next to him. Part of him fully expected John to move away, to try and distance himself from him. Even if not openly antagonistic after James' revelation then at least more reserved, but Silver stayed steadfast by his side. Close enough for James to be able to feel his presence without actually touching. 

The man who started as a job-related annoyance at best, a cursed little punk he needed to drive to Hal to make sure there's no lingering malicious magic on him, but who became more of a partner than anyone else he worked with before. He wanted to lean against him, push those few centimeters of a barrier still between them, to press their sides together, to touch...

„When we're done with this case, I should start heading north to see Miranda,” he said instead. „I can make a detour to see Hal. If we stop making breaks for the cases we should be there within two days tops... If you want.”

„If I want?” Silver mocked and James sighed looking away.

„You said you don't want to be a hunter, but we both know it's bullshit by now,” he said tiredly, the old argument stale between them.

„Now wait a second, I-”

„You care about the job,” James continued, ignoring John's interruption. „You enjoy finally doing something worthwhile. You fucking thrive on people thanking you and owing their lives to you. Where else will you get this in your state? Where else will you wake up and matter? Know for a fact that whether you do your job or not means people surviving or not. You want this job and you can have it. I can drop you with Hal, he can set you up.”

Silver simmered in anger next to him. When he first joined James, he truly hated the job and didn't want it. He was scared for his life and still reeling from running for his life. Curious like a cat, like he always is, but still always looking for the easy way out. 

It changed and James still wasn't sure which one of them was more surprised when it did. When case after case Silver got more invested and cared more about it all. About the job, about the people they saved, about how good it felt to kill the monsters, to lower yourself into their darkness and fight back. 

James knew that pushing John to admit it, to acknowledge that this was what he wanted to do and stop trying to find a way out could be something that will push him away, startling him into another escape, but he kept bringing it up more and more often. Restarting the stale argument. He could not avoid Miranda for much longer and yet every mention of John leaving made him angrier than he expected. He kept thinking he just needed to keep him a bit longer to figure it out, what he wanted from this... partnership. How badly did he need John to stay...

„Miranda knows a lot about magic as well, especially the protective kind,” he said slowly before John's anger boiled over, Silver turning to him and watching him carefully as he said nothing more.

„Would she be able to help me out with the curse issue?” John asked slowly after a pause.

James nodded, licking his lips nervously. „You could come with me.”

Silver watched him for a long moment before looking away, clearly lost in thought, thinking fast and dep in all directions like he did when he was dropped in a new situation. As if he was working out every possible outcome in his own head and carefully considering his next move to decide which future he was willing to agree to. James let him spin in peace, grateful at least  
for the fact that he did not need to clarify anything further, being absolutely certain that John knew far more than a choice between two capable people was on the offer here. The excruciating waiting for his reply was interrupted by the sound of a text arriving on James' phone.

„Text alerts? Seriously?” John asked his imaginary audience since James paid him no mind, checking the message.

„Abigail is staying with her family friends. Apparently, they insist on keeping an eye on her.” He looked up at Silver. „But she offers us a free reign of her house which might be more useful than a motel room.”

John stood up quickly and James tried not to take offense at the escape: „I hear her and I'm already halfway to the master bathroom and its giant tub.”

James raised his eyebrows.

„I'm quite sure she rather had in mind the library and fast wifi.”

„I can't hear you over here in the paradise of luxury,” John called from the corridor.

James rolled his eyes.

„A man died there!” he reminded.

„And what a way to go!” 

 

 

 

James was just finishing his coffee and looking through the results that John's nationwide search brought when he heard the sound of John's wet foot and crutches on the wood panels. Automatically he made the mistake of turning around. 

John was clad only in a towel, which frankly seemed even more reckless on someone who was swinging his whole lower body with every step. James vaguely lost his train of thought but regained some clearness of his mind as he realized how ridiculous John looked with another towel wrapped around his head.

"Enjoyed your bath?" he mocked but Silver only grinned in reply, unrepented.

"You have no idea. It's decadent, I love it." He hobbled to his duffel bag, hopefully rummaging through it for some clothes to wear. "This case can go on forever... Well, you know, with fewer people dying and more time spent at Abigail's very hospitable place."

"Of course," deadpanned James. The towel wrapped around John's hips seemed to be winning the fight against its half-hazard knot and the force of gravity while John moved around, bending over to see into his bag.

James stood up suddenly and threw the printouts he's been reading at the top of the files.

"I think I found our Mary. Try to see if there's anything connecting her to this city."

John looked up at him surprised. "And you?"

"And I'm going to enjoy a luxurious bath," James said easily, grabbing his own bag so his return would be slightly more dignified than John's.

Silver grinned at him as he passed and James had a sudden feeling he might have just lost ground in some sort of standoff he was not aware of. He ignored it in favor of the bath which was in fact just as decadent and luxurious as Silver promised. He was hoping Abigail would not return earlier than planned and ask how exactly soaking in her father's bathtub helped solve the case. Warm water worked miracles on James' cramped muscles and he was not willing to give up on that yet. 

 

 

 

"You found anything?" he asked when he returned to the living room.

He changed into sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, very much willing to wait with digging further into the case after a good night sleep if only his gut would let go off the bad feeling that they should not relax yet and Abigail's friend was not going to be the last victim if they do. 

"I'm pretty sure, yeah...” Silver confirmed lightly, still more focused on the screen before him. He was sitting on the couch in shorts and nothing else, his hair like a cape spreading over his back and tip of the pen chewed between his lips as he focused on work. „The case you noted, one Mary Terrence, who died in Millen, Georgia. Brutally killed and mutilated in front of the mirror by an unknown person. I dug into the reports from the man working the case back then and even found an article about it on some crime blog. It seems everybody suspected Mary's ex-boyfriend turned stalker, Philip Stancy. Mostly because he was a creep who couldn't take a hint, but also because Mary's eyes were removed very professionally and he was a med student. Not a really good one, but still."

"Yeah, Silver, I read the file. I guess that's the best shot we have."

"Exactly, especially since the crime blog mentions one more interesting detail."

James rose his eyebrows.

"Yes, admittedly, it's not certain they didn't add this for the dramatism, but they're pretty airtight on other details and there's a strong hint they got that from the officer working on the case at the time, they just couldn't make it official. So I used your smart ways and my clever tricks to get more files on the case from the police archive and it turns out the crime blog does not lie: there were three letters written in blood on the mirror 'P-H-I'"

"Philip?"

"Was the guess of the police as well but since the bastard left absolutely no evidence and no one saw him there and his family provided him with a solid alibi and very determined lawyers... Well, he went free. But I think Mary didn't get over the noble cause of writing her accusations on the mirrors."

James nodded slowly. "But why this city? There has to be some connection. Was she buried here or something?"

Silver shook his head, obviously already done with checking this possibility.

"No, she was cremated and the urn was buried in her hometown. Couldn't follow anyone either. The officer who worked the case and never really let it go passed away last year and dear old Philip died of cancer five years before that. Both cremated. Quite frankly the case is about as cold and dead as anyone invested with it. However," John turned the laptop towards James, a more up to date picture of a huge standing mirror taking most of the monitor, „the mirror from Mary's bedroom was sold just about a month ago."

"To whom?"

Silver shrugged with a small sigh.

"Hard to say, would have to make some calls to confirm for sure. But judging by the comment section on the auction two most interested people were some woman from Nebraska and an antique shop owner from Charleston, so I think we know who's our best bet."

"We can confirm it in the morning and smash it later. This should be enough."

"I suppose."

"What do you mean?" James looked up from the files at John's uncertain tone.

"It's just... She's not entirely tied to that mirror, is she? If we smash it while she's elsewhere, chilling killing, she might not disappear."

"You think it would be best to smash it while she's in it? To summon her?"

"That sounds a lot like tempting fate to me which I can't say I support, but I think it would make more sense."

James nodded thoughtfully. "It would. I will have to summon her and when she shows up, I can kill her."

James took Silver's sudden silence for an agreement which was really a rookie mistake he was willing to blame on exhaustion.

"Excuse me," John scoffed affronted. "You will just summon her? Can I remind you it's not exactly that easy, she doesn't just come for whoever calls, you need to-"

"I know what I need, Silver and I-" James looked down at his phone vibrating on the coffee table without a sound. "What the hell have you done?"

"Saved us both a headache," murmured John passing James the phone and frowning when he saw Miranda's name on it.

James grabbed the mobile and disconnected the call. John looked at him in disbelief, almost reproachful even.

"I will call her later when I have more to tell her."

"You figured telling her Abigail is safe is not worth sharing?"

The phone vibrated again, Abigail's name flashing on the display.

"Is she?" James asked Siver picking up the call. He paused briefly as he heard a sniffled sob.

"Abigail, is everything all right?" he asked, suddenly on high alert, previous drowsiness entirely forgotten.

"I saw her."

"Who? Who did you see?"

"I saw Mary,” Abigail gasped between the sobs. „She's after me now."

 

 

 

It didn't take long to convince Abigail to come back home with them. The family she was staying with didn't even protest much, didn't even bother asking who they were and what gave them the right to take Abigail anywhere.

James barely bothered to speak with them, he just threw some nonsense around about him being an old friend of her father. They didn't seem to care much one way or the other. The man wanted to interrupt them at first, demand some justification perhaps, but his wife held his arm and glanced nervously to the houses down the street. People were already gathering on nearby lawns and to peek at the crying daughter of their late mayor. 

James snarled at the man, urging Abigail towards the Impala without another word. 

She quieted down on the way to her house.   
Her cheeks were still wet as fresh tears kept sliding down, but she only hiccuped and breathed carefully, the sobs from before have quieted down into something even more scared and desperate. John walked her into the house, wrapped in James leather jacket as she shook slightly most likely from the shock as the evening air was still heavy with heat.

Perhaps the presence of the ghost didn't help either. 

They put Abigail in her own bedroom to make her feel safer. They removed or covered all the mirrors in the room and the closest bathroom, both of them carrying the dresser with a built-in mirror outside just in case. 

Abigail gasped wetly, her throat still clogged with the sobs.

"I saw her in Mister Chermain's glasses," she said quietly and John just looked at James and they turned to check the room again.

They covered the window and closed the laptop. Just to be certain they took out of the room Abigail's collection of sunglasses and her iPhone. James looked desperately if there were any reflective surfaces left, but it seemed they were safe for now. 

John coaxed Abigail to open her eyes and look at them. He sat next to her, moving his hand soothingly over her back as she leaned into his side seeking the comfort he offered so easily. James stood before them clenching his fists, uncertain what to do with his hands. He could sit on her other side, he thought, wrap an arm around her as well, but even in his thoughts the action seemed fake and theatrical and he feared she would sense it. Sense the awkwardness, the unsureness of the touch he was no longer used to giving.

Instead, he took the desk chair and sat in front of them, leaning in, holding his hands before him and looking Abigail in the eyes.

"Tell us what happened, Abigail," he said as softly as he could and he hated himself for glancing briefly at John who nodded as if approving of his approach.

Abigail took a deep breath.

"Mrs. Chermain started talking about the accidents and how the kids believe they are connected with the ghost. She noticed how uncomfortable I was and later tried to get me to face my fears and realize how silly they are."

John rolled his eyes.

"I said that that's what Lizzie tried and ai would rather not… And she- We were in the guest room and she was talking about how everyone always summoned bloody mary on the dare and it wasn't a big deal like she did it when she was a teen. And she turned to the mirror and said it once and I asked her to stop and- she said it again, looking at me like I was crazy and I didn't want her to die or anyone else to die again, so I said it the third time. 

Mrs. Chermain laughed and said she was proud of me and I thought maybe since it was two people she wouldn't show...."

"But you saw her,” James concluded, watching her nod. 

"Yeah, Mrs. Chermain went to check on her sons and I glanced in the mirror… She was standing behind me. I screamed and I called you… I, I smashed the mirror and then everyone run into the room and I saw her everywhere, in Mr. Chermain’s glasses, in the windows… “

"And why did you see her, Abigail?"

She looked up at John, surprised at his question.

"What? I just told you, I said-"

"Yes, Abigail," John continued softly but steadily. "But you know that's not all there is to it. She doesn't attack just anyone, she attacks those she founds guilty."

"You don't know that! You have no proof my dad did anything. It could mean anything and-"

"Whose name is she going to write on your mirror, Abigail?" James asked unwaveringly.

More tears streamed down her face as she trembled, her arms dropping as the fight left her.

“Hugh Tyson."

"And who was he?"

"He was my boyfriend, in high school. I liked him, he was so different from the people here, so wild and intense about everything. It was sometimes scary. One day we fought again… I was so scared and so mad and he said.. he said he will kill himself if I leave and- and I- I told him to go ahead."

She started sobbing again and John pulled her tighter against his chest, caressing her hair and murmuring soothingly into it. 

"I didn't mean for it to happen," she cried. "I didn't want him dead, I was just scared."

James leaned further, holding her hands, unable to stop himself from at least attempting to give some comfort. 

"Abigail, you've done nothing wrong, you have not killed him, this is not on you."

"She thinks it is," she sobbed, turning her head against John's chest so she could look at James.

The whole time during their visit he was shocked how adult she was and yet now when she collapsed and broken down, she looked again like the child she still was to him. Her hair a mess, her lips trembling in a sob, her cheeks wet and red. He wanted to burn the whole town down for forcing that adult mask on her for so long and for abandoning her now that she needed them the most.

"Ghosts don't really see the shades of gray when it comes to punishment," John explained softly. "There's death you're connected to, you feel guilty for, and that's enough for her."

"Will she kill me?" she asked, small and scared and there was no way in hell James could ever say yes to that, no matter how odd their chances were.

"No," he assured her. "We're gonna find her and get rid of her for good."

John looked at him above Abigail's head, his eyes soft with warm amusement and for once James held that gaze and let himself feel the affection aimed at him, sweet and warm and almost able to overpower the heavy bitter taste of guilt he always had to swallow down.

 

 

 

„I still don't think it's a good plan,” John said as they drove towards the antique shop that was supposed to hold the mirror before which Mary Terrence died.

James had to give it to him, the kid lasted longer than James thought he would before voicing his doubts and criticizing the plan. Possibly he didn't want to worry Abigail any further by letting her know their plan was not exactly foolproof.

The girl was still shaken and terrified as they left her in her room, free of all reflective surfaces as it was and asked her to bunker up there for the night.

She looked at them desperately, wanting them to deal with the threat but also not leave her alone at the same time.

„I could come with you,” she suggested.” She will come after me and you can get her then.”

„No, Abigail. This is much safer for you. You need to stay here and let us deal with this, you're far too vulnerable for her now.”

James knew he was right. It was too much of a risk to bring a civilian in, especially with John as his partner, still with less experience than preferable. But Abigails terrified look seemed harder to dismiss than those of others he helped along the way. Especially as she tried to be stubborn and jut her chin out, straightening her posture. Maybe it was something due to similar upbringing or just a coincidence mixed with his melancholic thoughts but in this moment she reminded him of Thomas when he dig his heels in on some issue and was about to start arguing with all his might.

In the end, he gave her the cordless home phone they found in Peter's office and Miranda's number.

„She will appreciate hearing from you, I had little time to update her on the case. And she's a good listener.”

Abigail nodded and before she managed to come up with more arguments for her stance, James joined his partner pacing near the front door.

„We don't have a better plan,” he reminded. „And we can't just let her die. Especially since I doubt she'd be the last one.”

„I know, but how on Earth would that even work? You have no secrets that no one knows about.”

James frowned.

„Back pardon?”

„You told me about Thomas,” John reminded bluntly. „What's there that I could possibly still not know about you?”

„You have known me for four months!”

„I am aware,” John replied stubbornly and James briefly met his gaze - intense and focused and free of the fake lightness it usually shined with - before he turned back to the road. „And I repeat, what could possibly be there that I still don't know about?”

James ignored the question. Both unwilling to admit anything, destroying his chance at getting Mary, but also suddenly frustrated as he grasped for the parts of himself he hid from others, closeted behind years of old shame and guilt and fear, realizing how many of them he somehow already shared with John without realizing most of it.

„Wouldn't be much of a secret if I told you, would it?”

John simmered in angry, frustrated silence for less than a minute.

„You think I don't know you feel guilty for Thomas' death?” James’ hold on the steering wheel tightened visibly. „You said it yourself, you saw the signs. And you feel guilty you didn't do anything to help, that you ignored the supernatural... That's why you're so obsessed with it now. It's not a secret and I-”

„Stop,” James grunt out, barely holding his anger in check enough to not drive them off into a ditch. „Stop assuming you know me so well. You know enough. More than you should, perhaps. But you don't know everything.”

„I know,” John interrupted, „that it's a stupid plan.”

„Well, would you rather do it? I know nothing about you. You're a bloody secret wrapped in an enigma and covered with bullshit smiles and a dozen fake personalities.”

„You know more about me than anyone else alive,” John said, his voice hollow as he turned towards the window. 

James snorted, incredulous. 

„I don't know shit about you.”

He looked back at John, still curled towards the window, his face barely visible, his posture rigid. He was hurt and angry and so bloody open about it, it was terrifying. James opened his mouth to offer some sort of apology before he even fully realized what he was doing, but stopped as John reached to turn on the radio, cutting him off.

 

 

 

They walked into the back of the antique shop, the storage space full to the brim with some furniture, few boxes with books and smaller tidbits, and - judging by the first look – dozens of more and less massive and ornate mirrors.

„Huh,” John said lightly in surprise. „Seems they have a specialty.”

„Isn't that lovely,” replied James dryly, scanning the rows and rows of mirrors before him, the light from his flashlight jumping around the room, rebounding from all the reflective surfaces.

„Perhaps it helps the business.”

James rolled his eyes and took out the picture of the mirror they were looking for, angling it towards John so both of them could see it clearly. The argument over the final plan forestalled until they would actually be able to enact any sort of plan at all. 

„Better start looking,” grumbled James and walked deeper into the room.

Before John managed to follow the car lights suddenly hit the windows, blue police light flashing around.

James cursed under his breath before glaring at John.

„Silent alarm?” offered John unsurely.

„You think?” mocked James and John just rolled his eyes. 

The policemen walked out of the car with the flashlights, glancing through the windows, clearly checking for burglars and walking steadily towards the entrance. John looked at James questioningly, trying to decide which one of them should deal with this.

They both knew John was better at talking to people and making him do what he wanted. Sadly, it rarely ever worked on cops. They usually wanted to have him cuffed and in the back of the patrol car before he could even start working his magic. 

James sighed, reaching the same conclusion and moving towards the entrance with determination to end this as quickly as possible. He passed John the picture, just in case exchanging it for a crowbar John still held loosely in his hand.

„Find the bloody thing and don't do anything stupid.”

John gave him the innocent _„do I ever?”_ look but James ignored him, focusing his attention at two officers just outside the door. He walked out to them, trying to remember what it was like, wearing a uniform like this, believing he's protecting people around him... Not knowing shit about the dangers that are actually out there.

He kept the crowbar in his hand carefully out of direct line of sight.

„Good evening, officers. I'm sorry for the disturbance,” he said lightly enough. „I had to accidentally trip the wire.”

„And who the hell are you?” asked the policeman on his left, redheaded and chubby, not looking like anyone who joined the force for the thrill of the chase.

The dark-haired one seemed a bit more eager but at least twenty years past his last thrill-seeking days. He kept close to James' other side, watching him carefully. 

„My name's James Halmond,” James said thinking fast, considering all cover stories and briefly wondering how it really seemed more like John's part of the job. „I'm the owner's brother.”

„You're Mister Chang's brother?” mocked the redheaded officer.

James really hated John Silver and regretted ever meeting him or even considering leaning towards his methods.

„In law?” he tried vaguely. 

The officer on his right put the hand on his holster and James bit back on a curse. He heard the distant sound of glass crashing from behind him. 

„I really don't have time for this.”

He hit the redhead officer before him, swinging the crowbar at the other one before he managed as much as take out his gun. They laid splayed on the sidewalk within seconds. James hoped that will buy them enough time. The neighborhood was quiet and pretty dead at this time of the night, but it was not going to take too long before the men woke up or someone noticed them.

James run into the building, following the renewed sounds of shattering glass.

He run over the shattered glass towards John who was kneeling before the mirror, holding his face in hands, blood sipping between his fingers. 

“You bloody idiot,” growled James over the sound of the voice that was coming from the mirror. 

It was speaking in a language James couldn't easily place, sharp with consonants and rustling sounds. Its tone familiar yet so different from John's usual voice that only as James managed to look in the mirror himself he could confirm it was John's reflection speaking. It looked up at James. Blood dripping from its eyes as it smiled when John screamed in pain.

James lifted the crowbar again, smashing the mirror without a second thought. John's scream cut off as it shuttered.

James dropped his makeshift weapon, crowding John, trying to pry his hands away and help him move away from the shattered glass and the tall frame still looming over them.

„Are you alright? John! Are you alright?”

John nodded frantically, trying to get up, but he was still shaken and couldn’t find balance enough, his leg slipping from underneath him as he leaned heavily over James.

„Come on,” James urged, tagging him up and holding him close.

There was a bit of a sudden chill in the air. The slightest sound of glass as something moved behind them. James turned his head just in time to see Mary crawling out of the frame as if smashing the mirror finally freed her ghost.

„Fuck,” he cursed, letting John go as the pain hit them both. He fell down on the floor next to John, grasping around for any sort of weapon, anything they could use. His hands found nothing but more and more pieces of the mirror, cutting his skin. He grasped one of the bigger ones and turned it on the ghost, forcing her to face her own reflection as he squeezed his eyes in pain, blood dripping down his cheeks. 

„You killed them,” came the voice from the mirror piece James held. „You killed all those people!”

Mary's ghost stopped, its gaze locked with her own reflection as she fell for her own curse. The pain in James' eyes diminished and he blinked heavily, trying to watch as Mary faced with her own crimes disappeared screaming in front of them, the thick smell of sulfur left behind it.

„Well that was clever,” John praised from where he laid on the floor next to James. His eyes looked red and swollen and he was blinking rapidly to soothe them, but he was looking curiously back at James so the damage couldn't be too bad. „How did you know it would work?”

James shrugged. He didn't.

„Ah,” John nodded understandingly. „One of those plans then?”

James grinned widely and looked down at John's returning smile. 

„Shut it and get up,” he grumbled even as he was already getting up himself so he could land John a hand and help him up. „We need to be out of here before police returns. I'm not in the fucking mood to be put in jails for breaking and entering.”

„I'm surprised you managed to charm them away for that long,” he offered, standing up however wobbly.

James grunted vaguely and John stilled for a moment, looking at him carefully.

„You knocked them out, didn't you?” he asked, his movements now quicker and steadier as he became more determined to get away from the crime scene as soon as possible.

James didn't dignify the accusation with an answer and just led them out of the building and towards the Impala as quickly as possible. He slid into the driver's seat, turning the engine on as soon as John's backside hit the passenger's seat, making him close the door as the car was already moving. 

They drove in silence and James wondered about the echo of the strange language still vaguely echoing in his head. It seemed that whatever John's secrets were, they were possibly even less accessible than James could ever predict. He kept his silence, though he could not stop thinking about how earnest John sounded when he assured him he knows more about John than anyone else in the world.

They were halfway through to Abigail's house when John spoke instead.

„I can't tell you more about me than you already know,” he said carefully as if he spent the whole drive so far designing this sentence with crucial details. „I- There's not much to tell, really. It's not a grand origin story that helps make sense of me. There's no Shakespearean tragedy that shaped me into who I am. It's just a huge and chaotic congregation of painfully mediocre, painful experiences that don't tie up into any narration, but which over the years I tried to force in so many stories that I can no longer be sure of how much they were changed and edited. And just because a ghost with my face can speak of those things, does not make it any easier for me to do it.”

He looked straight at James for the first time since he started speaking. His gaze determined and unflinching.

„You know as much as I could ever tell anyone,” he assured. „Little as it is, that's all I have to offer.”

James nodded slowly, hesitating with his own words, unwilling to break John's speech, wrapping the silence carefully around it in case there were more words willing to fall into it. But John just clenched his jaws and nodded back and that seemed to be as much as James was going to learn about the man today.

It was not much and it added to even less, but James remembered the sound of the language John's reflection spoke. Just as well as he remembered the shapeshifter moving awkwardly in John's body, unused to how much effort it took to move it smoothly and seemingly effortlessly like John did. Remembered how it talked about the mess in John's head and how hard it was to find what's an actual memory and what's just a cover story. He remembered John's stories and John's unexpected skill set and how his eyes softened when a kid they saved was especially clever and how suspicious he got because no kid should be that clever unless they were forced to become so.  
He thought of John's masks and how smoothly John put them on when he talked with people and how sometimes James could see them slide off when they were alone.

„It's enough,” he assured quietly after a long, slow moment and John looked up at him, almost startled. James met his gaze carefully: 

„I know you,” he assured with the certainty that allowed no doubt, putting his hand on John's. A comforting gesture but also more of an opening that he gave another person in years. His thumb sliding comfortingly over John's knuckles, his nervously clenched fist. „That's enough. What you have to offer, it's enough.”

John watched him carefully, his eyes red and puffy, blood dried around them as some sort of a grotesque makeup. He searched James' face even as James was forced to look away and pay attention to the road. He could just barely see John nodding again, before looking away and focusing his gaze outside of the window. His fist unclenched under James' hand, and James avoided changing gears as long as possible before he finally had to take his hand away and ended the contact with the last swipe of his thumb. He hoped John will figure out how to bring more of this closeness for them if he wanted to. 

 

 

 

Abigail barely woke when they came back and they didn't bother with full explanations, answering her half-muffled questions with the assurance that everything was alright and she was safe. 

„You're welcome to stay for awhile,” she said to them both and added quietly to James: „Mrs. Hamilton said you should call her.”

James only nodded before walking out of the room. Abigail barely noticed it as she curled around her pillow, already returning to sleep, slowly regaining the energy that the stress of the last few days drained from her. 

James slowly made his way around the house, making sure it was secure. Closing the door and grabbing his bag, to get it upstairs. He was not surprised when he heard the water running, knowing John was using the opportunity to enjoy the ensuite bath again to get rid of the grain after the hunt and relax the pained muscles. James left him to it, deciding he could wait for his turn until the morning at least. He stripped down to his boxers and got into the ridiculously comfortable bed in the guestroom. He was almost asleep when he felt another presence in the room. He opened his eyes to see John leaning against the doorframe and watching him quietly.

He was wearing his own sweatpants but what looked like James' t-shirt, considering it was at least two sizes too big on him. His eyes were still puffy but he looked worse after other hunts and James watched him back hoping to soon forget the sound of his pained screams for a while.

„It feels weird to sleep in the dead man's bed,” John offered.

„But not to use his bathroom?” James mocked, carefully not mentioning the second guestroom or the giant couch in the living room. 

He shuffled to the side of the bed, which seemed to be the best he could offer in the form of the invitation. It must have been enough because a few seconds later John laid on the bed, putting his crutches in line next to it.

He hesitated only for a moment before sliding under the cover and in a swift, bold move pressing his whole body against James'. His hair was dump against James' shoulder, his cold nose just barely touching James' collarbone.

He was laying stiffly, all muscles coiled as if ready to jump as if he was testing what's happening between them and what was allowed. James forced himself to relax and put his hand on John's hip, holding him loosely, his thumb moving soothingly against John's side.

John relaxed and practically melted against James' side.

None of them said another word before they fall asleep to the sight of the sun rising and bathing the room in a soft light.

 

 

 

James woke several hours later when his phone is trying to vibrate off the nightstand. It was definitely past noon judging by the light in the room and he was alone in bed. He stretched leisurely enjoying the space and softness of his covers before he reached for his phone, glancing at its display just long enough to see Miranda's name.

„I'm going to South Carolina,” she greeted him without preamble and he sighed realizing he didn't expect anything else since he asked Abigail to give Miranda a call. 

„Miranda-”

„Don't, James,” she interrupted shortly. „She needs someone who's not out to ruin her. I might not be up to date with the world she's living in, but I know it well enough to be of some assistance.”

„Okay.”

He had a feeling Miranda started this conversation a while ago and only bothered to call him at the end of it. It sounded like he argued a lot with her plan in that part of the discussion that only took place in Miranda's imagination. He wondered if it hadn't served him well after all that he decided against calling Miranda last night. He had a feeling the discussion would run less smoothly if he was actually participating in it.

„And I think, if she's willing, I will be taking her to our house for a bit. After she organizes her stuff and can take a moment to rest from it all.”

„She might need it,” he agreed softly. 

„I'm certain she will.”

„When do you plan on being back home?” he asked carefully.

„Whenever she's ready to come with me or for me to leave, whichever she prefers. I- I feel like I need to do this like I somehow let her down by staying away from it all.”

He smiled, enjoying the fierce protectiveness in her voice. The stern, decisive tone of it that he hadn't heard in a long time.

„I doubt you could help even if you were here. These people here...” he fell silent, unable to decide what insult should he use to finish the sentence. So many of them fit.

„I know, James. It's not a rational feeling, I'm just worried about her.”

„She's tougher than you think. I think you will really like her.”

„It seems you do already,” she said with a smile, hearing the affection in his voice.

„She's- She's not very much like her father. More like her father wanted to seem like.”

He stumbled over the words, hoping she will gain his meaning even when it didn't seem so clear.

„Ah. That's fortunate.”

„Very.”

The silence fell between them for a short, comfortable moment. He could no longer hear her moving around as she kept packing and he imagined her seating on the bed, next to an open suitcase, surrounded by clothes still waiting to be packed or put back in the closet.

„I'm sure I will be back by the time you make it up north,” she said with a short note of reproach before adding more gently: „I'd like to have you home for a while, James.”

„I'll be there,” he promised and took a deep breath: „I- I told John you can as well make sure the curse doesn't linger on him. I might be coming with him.”

He waited, bracing himself for her reaction, knowing without a doubt that she heard everything he was saying between the lines, possibly better than he ever intended. She stayed silent for a moment, perhaps thinking about Billy she never got to meet or Eleanor whom she saw once and in her own bar, or Hal who only shadowed their doorway when he absolutely had to. A long list of people they knew and much shorter one of those they trusted and none of those people were ever invited by James into the safe space they carved for themselves.

Irrationally James worried about her reaction before he realized she was aware of that and that was why she was being so careful with it. Treating him like an easily spooked animal that one needed to cautious around. 

„I'm glad to hear that. I'll make sure to read up on the curses to make sure I will help you keep him safe.”

„I'm-” he paused, suddenly wanting to take the weight of his words, break the tension he created. „It's nothing certain yet. He might not come.”

She chuckled so softly it was no longer than a quiet breath tinted with amusement and incredible fondness. He craved to see the lines on her face, arranging into the smile she had to be wearing right now.

„I think he will,” she said softly, „but either way, it's better to be prepared.”

He nodded, ignoring the pointlessness of the action.

„Thank you, Miranda,” he said with a feeling, grateful for the connection between them that kept him from drowning for so many years.

„There's no need for thanks, my love. I will see you home when you're ready.”

He hang up with a small smile thinking it might be earlier than he thought before. He wondered if they would get there early enough for John to see the flowers in full bloom or would they need to wait for that until next year. He was starting to think they could make it.

**Author's Note:**

> As stressful as finishing the bigbang was, I've had an absolute blast working with [nopupil](http://nopupil.tumblr.com/) and if nothing else, I'm super glad I got to know her a bit while working on this project. I feel like we've made a great, albeit super pro-procrastinating, team. <3


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